The Pakhan is still looking faintly amused by all this.
He takes up a pen and scribbles out his signature on both copies of the document and then gives Priest a nod. “It’s done.”
Priest picks up his copy of the agreement. “We’ll be in touch to hammer out the specifics—the when and the where of the wedding.”
“Agreed,” Sidorov all but purrs, extending his hand. “It was a pleasure doing business with you, Andriani.”
There’s something smug about the bastard. Like this was what he planned all along and he’s finally getting what hewanted. I’m not sure if he’s that Machiavellian or if I’m giving him too much credit. One thing’s for damn sure. I’ll be keeping my eye on the new leader of the Bratva, and I don’t trust him as far as I can fucking throw him.
Priest doesn’t flinch as he shakes hands with the Pakhan. “I wish I could say the same.”
I’m still holding Isla tightly against me, not about to let her go.
“The wedding?” Scorpion repeats, nonplussed. “Who’s getting married?”
“You are,” Priest tells him.
“The fuck? I’m not getting married.” He looks around, realization dawning on him as he starts shaking his head emphatically. “No fucking way.” He points at Ekaterina. “Her? You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. I’m not marrying that spawn of Satan.”
Ekaterina, meanwhile, looks like she’s actively plotting his assassination.
It’s a match made in hell. But it’s the only way.
“You have some time to acquaint yourself with the idea,” Sidorov drawls smoothly.
“We’ll talk soon,” Priest says, and then we all get the fuck out of Bratva territory as fast as we can.
I get into one of the waiting cars with Isla, leaving Priest to explain to Scorpion that he’s about to land himself a new wife. I need this time alone with her. The second we’re in the back seat, I pull Isla into my lap and tell my guy to start driving.
The sooner we get back to the safe house, the better.
Chapter 27
ISLA
Alessio cups the back of my head and brings my mouth to his, kissing me fiercely, like he’s afraid I’ll disappear and the only thing holding me on this earth is his lips on mine. He may be right. I feel grounded here with him. Anchored and safe. Like I’m finally where I belong. Where I’ve always belonged.
I’m sideways on his lap, riding without a seat belt for the first time in my life, but I don’t care about breaking what has been one of my cardinal rules, just afterlook both ways before crossing the streetandbrush your teeth every morning and night.
Because I’malive.
I was rescued from the Bratva.
And, most importantly of all, because Alessio is holding me tightly, like he’s never letting go. I’ve been clinging to him ever since he first caught me when I rushed across that spartan office and straight into his arms. I’m so relieved and overwhelmed that I can’t even summon my full fury at the way he was sending me off to the airport without so much as a goodbye.
I kiss him hard instead, trying to punish him with my lips, to show him how wrong he was for thinking he could get rid of meso easily. There was one thought that kept pushing me through the horrors of those hours I spent tied up in that dank warehouse room, and it was him. It was that I want to be with Alessio Andriani.
Nothing else matters. Not the fact that he’s a part of the Mafia, not the way we found each other, not the danger inherent in his life. Just him. This beautiful man.
By the time I come up for air, we’re both breathless.
I drink in the sight of him, his dark hair falling over his brow, his blue eyes glinting into mine with possessive heat, his mouth dark from my kisses, those slashing cheekbones and his wide jaw. Every part of him is beloved to me. How could I have ever imagined I could be in this man’s arms and in his bed without falling in love?
Clearly, I’m an idiot.
“You were sending me away,” I say, and to my embarrassment, my voice cracks a little.
He caresses my cheek. “I was trying to keep you safe.”
